


The broken wall, the burning roof, and tower fallen

by Urloth (CollyWobbleKiwi)



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Asexuality Spectrum, Asexuals with magical powers, Cannibalism, Dubious Consent, Dynamic changes, M/M, Probably doing ABO incorrectly, Worldbuilding, Xeno
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-07-15 23:43:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7243582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CollyWobbleKiwi/pseuds/Urloth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone lived aware of the delicate balance, that the Eldar had managed to find through nature’s bounty, was easily upset. Everyone did as they must, tip toed the delicate social steps perfected in Aman, and kept a close awareness of their companions to make sure they did not stumble either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Deep Slow Panic

The door slammed open. The crack of it hitting the stone was like the dooming snap of tightening in the sky, a second before the world dissolves in a torrential gale.

Yet Finrod could barely make his body stir.

“Lord Finrod there-“

“My lord your cousin-“

“The Feanorions are threat-“

“Finrod, Sire-“

Several stifled cries of horror. And one laugh. That laugh was raw at the edges in a way suggesting of a voice nearly lost from yelling, yet Finrod heard triumph; surprised triumph.

Finrod’s eyes snapped open yet movement was beyond him. He was sore all over as though he had wrestled a whole morning and ridden all afternoon before sparring with swords in the evening. Sore like he had carved a whole new wing just by himself. The ache was bone deep and no part of him had escaped it.

His vision blurred with exhaustion and the ceiling in his vision swayed as though he were on a ship. All of his inclinations were to roll towards the source of warmth at his right side and fall back into the pitch black slumber he had been pulled from.

There was a taste in his mouth he could not quite place. He licked his teeth and grimaced at the fuzzy feeling.

What day was it? What time was it? The light was so bright that it must be well past the morning gloaming he arose in. He found he did not care. He knew he should be worried. Very concerned at why men had come bursting into his private chambers like this instead of waiting for his manservant to wake him up.

The last time had been the loss of Tol Sirion.

“So… we search three days, in every wing and every mile of this underground folly when all we should have done was return to the heart of Nargothrond. I will admit shock. I did not expect to find them together.” the raw voice was calm and firm, and despite its hoarse tone he recognised it as Curufin’s. Horror that Curufin was in his bedchamber gave him the strength to snap his head towards the source of the voices.

Curufin’s face was a pale oval, long, dark, straight hair hanging down to frame it like a mourning shroud in tatters. His eyes gleamed like polished agate and his gaze bore down at Finrod who became aware of the warm air of the room surrounding his naked body but no blanket.

“You assured me,” this room was a mess. There was a bloody handprint ruining the careful meadow landscape upon the wall plaster. Chairs and the small curio table lay on their sides, pillows and precious artefacts scattered beyond where Finrod could see, “the master of the house was likely joined with other search parties, but instead he was committing the crime we prayed had not occurred.

Curufin stood amongst a handful of Finrod’s lords, some of his closest such as Edrahil and Orodreth and some less his friends, but still wise advisors, such as Lord Osbon who had been his father’s chaperone. All were of Ñoldor blood for no full blooded Vanyar could leave and no Teleri would leave, but many had mingled blood like his own and they were arrayed around Curufin’s storm dark form like shining beacons crowned with precious metals and rare woods.

All were pale and silent, and upon their faces was an array of emotions; horror, outrage, sorrow, and embarrassment amongst them. Orodreth in particular looked green and was wringing his hands so hard the skin was turning crimson.

Whatever emotions they were feeling, whatever the reason, they should not have been in Finrod’s room. The surge of territorial aggression took him by surprise and he struggled to hold back the reptilian urge to attack.

“Crime?” he asked and his voice tumbled out of him like gravel, scraping the tender flesh of his inner mouth. Everything felt flayed to the nerves. His jaw was aching particularly and there was a long forgotten feeling towards the back of his tongue of tenderness where glands, long supressed by infusions of blue-alfirin since his youth, lay.

“What has you in such high spirits this morning my dear cousin?” His hand groped for a blanket, for a sheet, any cover, as smoothly as he could make the seeking gesture.

“It is a little too late for modesty,” Curufin ignored the polite order for explanation.

“Curufinwë you are hardly being the best of house-guests to interrupt my sleep with accusations of misbehaviour.”

Curufin’s eyes were afire with emotions that had Finrod on his guard, hackles up, spine bristling. The smile that bloomed wicked and knowing over Curufin’s red mouth came in time with Finrod’s hand brushing warm skin over well-tempered muscle which was not his own.

The world chilled save for that warm flesh, rising and falling in the steady pattern of deep sleep. There was a scent in the air he noticed now only because when he ceased to breathe he ceased to take it in. Any Eldar knew this life rich blow to the chest. His blood roared, greedy and hot, and even with the invasive presence of Curufin and his men in the room his flesh was stirring and he sat up with each muscle in his back screaming.

There was an omega sleeping at his back. An omega who had, for some reason, not had laurinquë holding their heat in check.

“Speak not of guest behaviour to me when you have broken the most sacred rules of a host and taken by deception and force an omega who trusted your word to protect and respect his time with all due privacies.”

It was possible.

Eru it was possible.

His great glass houses fostered the growth of blue-alfirin used in the infusions to tame rut, and the laurinquë which grew bountifully there and banished heat was freely available in its tinctured form to all within his House. However, there was such a fine balance with the alfrin and the laurinquë; imperfect leashes that they were. Scent the spice that heralded a heat and the alfrin was naught but an unpleasant herbal tea. Scent the violent tang of rut and the laurinquë had simply ruined good alcohol.

It was why he crafted the well ventilated isolation chambers for those who might not find the herbs so effective, and the nuptial chambers that had their own air source from the rest of the fortress. Everyone lived aware of the delicate balance, that the Eldar had managed to find through nature’s bounty, was easily upset. Everyone did as they must, tip toed the delicate social steps perfected in Aman, and kept a close awareness of their companions to make sure they did not stumble either.

The accusation now had his lords in angry defence of him, turning on Curufin as one. But Curufin stood still and unfazed though as an alpha it was a clear challenge to Curufin’s weak authority over the room.

Finrod opened his mouth because he wanted to deny and refute the accusations most likely true. Even if it made him a liar.

He could not even turn his head to look. Unexpected cowardice had him focused upon his lords and cousin though every inch of his skin was acutely aware of the warmth at his back now. At the soft breathing smothered by the squalling of the men at the end of his bed.

Curufin was still speaking, forcing his voice past that of the lords though it made his voice ever hoarser “- have despoiled him. No promises of marriage and no bans have been read! He is a thief! A defiler! Less than a common wretch. He has acted like one of the slovenly untamed beasts we are descended from!

Though his world was shattering and these accusations and blows against his honour acute barbs into his flesh Finrod found space to find Curufin was laying the melodrama on thickly. This was not a polished spiel but something was lacking to its authenticity. Finrod’s suspicions flared but he licked his lips and the taste of blood shorted out the coursing of his thoughts and returned them to the body beside his.

“You are mistaken-” he lied. And the body behind his sighed in dreams, able to sleep through this noise due to some sort of luck or perhaps a will to reject the waking world.

He did not remember taking an omega to his bed. It should have comforted him but instead unnerved him because time and memory were not in harmony within him. His memories did not slide seamlessly one into the other but shuddered to a definite halt before picking up with the slamming of the door.

There was no reason for him to take an omega to bed. He had left his love and dreams of marriage and mating across the sea, for Amairë could not leave but he could not stay. His teeth had never marked the swan elegance of her neck through their long engagement, thus he had not hold over her. Could not order her to follow. Though she had offered him her neck in the gloom of smoking torches she had shook with fear and despair and he had not taken that final step, so there was no permanent binding between them. He had left her knowing another alpha may attempt to steal her. But she had made promises to wait. Wait until he returned for her and they would bind themselves the way they were meant to be.

He had not, since his youth had ended and his only adult rut had been a terrifyingly humiliating loss of control, fallen afoul of the bestial appetites that had allowed their ancestors to survive Cuiviénen. Blue-alfrin suppressed the rut. Supressed most of the violent tendencies that had been necessities of an unkind world but in Aman were no longer required.

Rut and heat were an embarrassing but unavoidable unpleasantry one had to endure in order to produce a family. A week of not partaking of alfrin in isolation with your partner so you did not embarrass yourself, and everyone else and you could return to life and forget you had disgraced and debased yourself so thoroughly.

He did not remember…

He did not remember… _it hadn’t been too musky near the door way but now the scent coated his throat and made Finrod’s head spin, cock pressing to the seam of his breeches with painful pulses as his spines swelled and his knot craved warm flesh to anchor in._

_Why wasn’t the privacy gate to this wing in the family quarters closed? Who was in heat? It could not be Finduilas, she took her tincture with breakfast each morning and without fail. Aegnor was gone. Lost forever to them. Alatariel lived within Doriath._

_There were no other omega in his family, even the recently immigrated members._

His stomach twisted with great nausea but he could not turn to look. He did not want to see.

To see was to acknowledge what must have happened.

It was not Celebrimbor was it?

At a weak guess he could only think of Celebrimbor who might be an omega for Celebrimbor had the typical body he associated with omega of the male persuasion; tall and capable from his smith work but with piquant delicacy.

What stood in the way of this was that Celebrimbor was Lusta; Empty; Null. Like two of his paternal uncles he did not have a gender. His scent was faintly sweet but empty of triggers for reaction. He instilled no angry territorial reactions from alphas, and no fear or arousal responses from betas or omegas. He sought no mate for himself as nulls were born naturally celibate and chaste.

Finrod could not even comprehend Celebrimbor being bedded at all.

Finrod’s hand, withdrawing from the flesh to fall by his side, had landed on a rope. The unexpected texture made him frown. He cast a careful look, hair shielding him from the view behind his shoulder, and saw his hand was clenched around a ghost-weed pale braid of hair. It lay across the dark blue sheets and originated from the peaceful sleeper.

The jarring, unexpected colour was a reprimand for his stupidity.

Enough. He must look to the source of the warmth by his side and the scent making his throat tighten and pulse surge each breath he took in.

It was worse than he thought. He had not given himself time, had not drawn his gaze up but instead turned his head sharply to confront the face. Parts of the braid had been torn free from confinement, especially near the nape, and strands of loose hair were plastered to the still, golden face half pressed like a child escaping a nightmare, into the pillow.

Celegorm.

Why was Celegorm in his bed?

Celegorm should not be in his bed, taking up a generous portion of the mattress with his tall, strong boned body. The light that was piercing the room in intolerably bright bars highlighted a forest of dark bruises running up one of his sides.

It was as impossible as Celebrimbor being in his bed.

As Maedhros being in his bed. (And this thought made him shiver with dark quiet knowing that Fingon would carve his gut open and watch him die from the exposure if such a thing occurred.)

“Why is my cousin,” he heard himself ask, each word dropping like a weight in a still pond for no one was speaking, “naked and in my bed?”

Why was he in Finrod’s bed, smelling thickly of him and of an omega’s sated heat?

Celegorm’s scent should have been barely there and inoffensive. Faintly sweet but lacking stimulus.

Celegorm was null.

Had always been null.

Was proud, as one could be, of being a null.

He had even performed the duties of a null for Finrod in fact, when the nulls Finrod preferred were not available.

“It is,” Curufin said with his tone dropping to the saccharine slowness that mothers used for particularly obtuse children, “exactly what you would think my Lord Cousin. My brother went into his heat. You took advantage of him.”

“That is slander Lord Curufin!” Edrahil snapped, and stepped between Curufin and the bed. His back provided a good cover for Finrod to finally grab the corner of a sheet and pull it over his lap, finding no sign of a night shirt of bed robe anywhere in the knotted bed clothes.

“Your words are as foul as your mind. This is _clearly_ not what it appears. Our Lord has been nothing but kind and generous to you and yours. He has not let past grievances colour his conduct; conduct which has ever been ever solicitous and kind to the weaker genders. There is an explanation here beyond what your salacious thoughts and you will hold your tongue until we know it!”

Edrahil too, Finrod felt embarrassment heat his ears, was laying on the melodrama thickly though there as proud pleasure to be found in such a stalwart defence. If only he could be assured that Edrahil was not impinging his own honour.

The evidence was not compelling.

“What,” Celegorm then asked behind Finrod, voice husky and molten with familiar temper, “is all of this?”

A finger poked him sharp between the ridges of his spine.

He turned his head again and Celegorm’s dark gaze matched his and he swore the colour paled by two shades in shock. His cousin had not recognised him, he realised, and watched Celegorm’s darting expressions as he took in the room, as much as he could see. The moment Finrod saw Celegorm realise he was not in the bedroom he recalled falling asleep in was a devastation through him because that depth of horror and fear… yes that was fear he saw, should never have been allowed in Nargothrond’s safe embrace.

“Where is – what this- why are you- you…” each sentence fragmented with a dry rough cough, then Celegorm seemed to run out of energy and words and so gestured violently at him for a moment before tiring even for that, arm flopping down onto the mattress and head following though there was no dilution to the confused rage in his eyes.

At least Celegorm had something as reassuringly solid as rage to fall back on.

Finrod was simply confused, though irritation was starting to give him a something to hold onto.

“Your brother is claiming I took advantage of you in your heat,” Celegorm looked to be falling asleep but snapped straight back awake with a snort of laughter that turned into a groan of pain.

“Don’t be asinine, I am a null. Everyone knows I am a null,” for some reason Celegorm sounded even angrier when he said this.

“Brother even you know that a null might display a gender later in life than usual,” Curufin said and his tone was no longer sharp or mocking or saccharine but almost tender; almost sympathetic. “You shunned the healers when you began to show your symptoms and only locked yourself away once you had nested.”

Celegorm was silent, blinking his only movements for such a long time that Finrod’s lungs burned and he realised he was holding his breath.

“Curufin,” violent and dark things slipped between each syllable “you are being a fool.”

Curufin sighed but it was laced heavily with indulgent affection. There was no pretence to it. It was completely genuine. Finrod had never heard the like of it leave Curufin before and it increased the feeling of his having lost a good grip on reality.

“Perhaps,” said one of Finrod’s lords, a null named Aewu, whose aunt had been his mother’s handmaiden, “we might discuss this with Lord Finrod and Lord Celegorm more alert and less addled. Whatever has happened here, they are both ill-suited right now for this discussion. They have not been seen for three days. We can at least assume they have not eaten in those three days. Perhaps not slept.”

“I agree,” Celegorm rose to sit, “get the fuck out.”

Edhrahil made a noise of pure rage, “you are in Lord Finrod’s bedchamber-“

“I see that,” Celegorm sneered back, pushing fly away hair back off his neck and his face with irritated flicks of his fingers. One such hit something and with a hiss of pain he pressed his palm to the side of his neck. Finrod had not seen what it was. Celegorm’s hair had begun to unravel when he had sat up, pulled free of the mangled braid where it stuck to unwashed skin.

“I also see something that resembles my nightshirt behind you and while I do not care if you see me, I am disinterested in your squeals of outrage if I was to just go on my way.”

Curufin, who appeared to have been born without self-preservation or the ability to obey a simple order darted forward and grabbed Celegorm’s wrist. Finrod surged across the bed to drag the other alpha’s hold away with a pulse of rage so quick it was like ignition of the dark powder the khazad used for their greater mining.

It achieved nothing good though. Only what Curufin had been trying to do anyway which was pull Celegorm’s hand away from his neck and the deep bite on the side of it, some of the scabbing rubbed away and so allowing a few thin, fresh lines of escaping blood.

The flesh was around it was puffy and irritated, bruising a spectacular violet.

“You have even punctured the gland,” Curufin’s voice was flat but his eyes, hidden from the other lords in the room by how his head was lowered to look at the wound, creased in malicious delight. His finger rose and touched the deepest part of the bite where Finrod, despairing, saw he must have dragged his jaw down to widen the wound. And more than despair that black sudden rage that Curufin was touching the bite at all.

Celegorm jolted and his confused distress at the powerful reaction only increased the despair setting up a house within Finrod’s chest.

“You have punctured the gland and bound yourself for life. There is no escaping what you have done _dear cousin_ Finrod.”


	2. Failing composure

The hassock was digging through Artaresto’s knees. The shimmering dark grey velvet seemed soft, but the cushion beneath was hard like a block of stone. He kept his composure however, and kept his back straight. He could feel the gazes of the assembled House of the Golden Flower watching his back, the weight of it pulling sinews and nerves taught.

Did they like what they saw?

He needed them to like what they saw. They would be going back to their elders, talking about him to them.

Laureafindë was in attendance amongst them. More than the Lord and Lady of the Gold Flower, his presence meant that Artaresto could take Laureaphen‘s courtship as true. As a promise of marriage. Laureaphen had spoken of his older brother with more respect than a lower alpha was required to give his better. Laureafindë had effectively dominated his entire household since he had finished growing, from what Artaresto had managed to garner from talk. Laureaphen had said that once his older brother approved the match then he would ask for Artaresto. He would.

He promised.

Once Laureafindë approved he would brave Angaráto’s territory and the danger inherent of wanting something that belonged to another alpha. For him. For Artaresto.

All these months of careful negotiated walks through gardens with null attendants chaperoning them. The careful touches. The balanced conversations.

Soon, soon, soon. His body surged warm from beneath his navel, but his small clothes trapped the incriminating erection, and the thick drape of his robes which insulated him against the ever faint chill of the chapel kept Artaresto’s perfect mien intact.

Artaresto’s hand were squeezing so hard together that he was losing the feeling in them. He kept his back straight, and head tilted attentively towards the sermon but with enough humility to show he was respectful. Laureafindë thought piety was important, but found religious fervour to be burdensome.

The inside of Artaresto’s mouth dried. He felt like his tongue was a thick heavy wad of cotton in the way of his breathing.

Oh soon please let it be soon.

Laureafindë’s presence was more important than the smattering of cousins.

Soon… yes soon. This waiting. This investment in this long and proper courting. It was all for his parents and it would benefit him as well. There would be no questioning his upbringing. There would be no questioning the bond. The children that resulted.

No whispers. No derisive smiles. No comments of pity about control. No having to send a unfortunately timed child to the child’s houses in Nessa and Orome’s forests. Nothing like that. Perfect in each way and without reproach, that was how his marriage would be arranged.

To his left his mother shifted only slightly on her knees.

There had been a selfish urge at a spring fete a few months past to simply forgo his laurinquë. Thoughts of Laureaphen’s tall strong body, the thick dark gold curls that fell around his face, and the warm press of his mouth too long against his neck the meeting prior before their chaperones had interfered. He’d almost missed the dose.

Then he’d caught sight of his mother coming to breakfast, pale and haunted looking as she always was when his sire was due his rut and aching because blue alfrin did not supress it as well as it did for his uncle. Balancing a husband who was snarling and snapping because she could not give him what his body demanded though his mind and soul were content with her, and organising the fete largely by herself had drained Eldalótë to a whisper.

He couldn’t ruin that. His scent would affect any alpha near his rut. It would be a scandal. It would be a mark of shame on Eldalótë because the blame always fell on her. Because she was beta.

He couldn’t help notice the differences as they knelt together, his beta mother and he her omega child, and the way her head was turned as she prayed for Artaresto’s unborn twin, the one who would have been the beta child, it showed off her nape and the pathetic scar that was now barely visible it had healed so well.

He always felt the need to apologise to her when he saw her like this, her head turned towards the child’s chapel while the pastor droned on. Apologising though would be ungrateful and demeaning of her. He had heard her confess she would rather his twin had been born by himself rather than Artaresto. Eldalótë had only wanted beta children. She had not wanted an alpha child to have to negotiate territory with, and watch her husband have to assert his dominance over. She did not want an omega child for many of the same reasons. Eldalótë, however, had known what she was risking when she, a beta, had carried an alpha’s child. She was marrying into a family where the risk was written into the mortuary chapels in Tirion; where Queen Indis’ continued public grief and mourning for the two daughters she had lost to their brothers did not seem to cease.

Of course Eldalótë would have wished for her beta child to be born by himself rather than with a twin but such had not happened and the outcome had been what was usually happened. Artaresto had been stronger and Artaresto had needed what his brother had, more than his brother had. And so Artaresto had been born and what parts of his brother he had not eaten had been mixed in with the placenta, months after his mother had had to live through the fight inside her and the death of the child she had wanted.

He ran his tongue along his teeth, and slid his eyes away from his mother’s petite jawline which did not have to house the same number of teeth an omega or alpha had to, and hoped he’d not seemed distracted to Laureafindë and the assorted cousins.

Soon.

\---

Artaresto wanted a small wedding. The minimum acceptable persons. A small intimate family meal afterwards.

“You can’t,” his mother said, fretting her wedding ring around her finger, “if you do you’re putting all this effort into seeing you properly courted to waste. People will _talk._ They’ll ask what you had to hide. What was wrong that people weren’t invited to witness the event. It has to be public and it has to be as large as suits both your positions in society.”

“I want to show you off,” Laureaphen agreed, “I don’t want people to say that I forced you or I hunted you. Minyar Alphas already had such a bad reputation… and they need to see what is mine and never theirs.” His smile was large and warm and Artaresto’s knees tried to melt and his instinct was to press close and bare his neck –

Their chaperone coughed. Artaresto’s desire faded away with the gentle insistence of the kindly lusta.

“If they see you happy and well provided for they won’t question our marriage even if our first child is lusta,” Laureaphen added, a line of worry between his eyebrows. Artaresto placed his hand on Laureaphen’s hand.

“You aren’t worried about an old wife’s tale are you?” the old adage was that the more violent and unwished for the binding, the more likely the first child was to be null so that the omega parent had an ally against their alpha.

“Not I,” Laureaphen immediately denied, “but people still talk about it like it is true and look at couples who produce a null with their hands over their mouths and holier-than-thou mutters of alphas who cant control themselves or omega who weren’t careful enough.”

He caught their hands together. “I don’t want that for you. I want the world to see how happy you are. And never question you. I don’t want a single whisper of doubt to ever find you.”

So it had to be large. Artaresto was only a grandchild and great grandchild of a king, but he still had a title and Laureaphen was a second son but his family held a dukedom. So the invitations went out and then his mother wrote to Fëanáro directly and his great-uncle arrived so they could peruse his _discards_ for a suitable gemstone to present to the Golden Flower.

It was a unique kind of hell for Artaresto, as things fell into place as though his mother had a list of things Artaresto most ardently did not want to happen and ensured each one. The large ballroom in Alqualonde for the feast; the one with too much gold leaf, the palace for the marriage itself despite how they lived in their own house with adequate gardens, and _all_ of the house of Finwë and Olwë in attendance, with a decent portion of Ingwë’s house and a swath of the high society and right kind of people attending as well.

But Fëanáro being involved in the process was possibly the worst.  He came with his wife and his two lusta children because the house of Olwë had a grossly disproportionate amount of alpha and being a null didn’t meant you could not incite an alpha into a rage. Lusta still had personalities after all. Fëanáro's was infamous.

Fëanáro’s scent was light and sweet with a bitter undertone that had no place in a nulls soothing aura. It was like poison smeared underneath the calm, the gentling. And when he had begun to hyperventilate as his mother dithered over a ruby that seemed to contain a live coal in the middle or an opal that shimmered with patterns taken from a dragonfly’s wing Fëanáro had gently wrapped his heart beat around Artaresto’s and then-

Artaresto woke up where he had been sitting on a settee, happily talking to Nerdanel about the wedding plans apparently, and a gemstone was gleaming on the table in its bed of silver-blue velvet, a brown diamond with a continuous falling rain of golden flower petals trapped inside it.

Nerdanel’s scent had been soft… sweet… bitter.

No one knew which of them had played dame and which one had played sire to the seven children they had somehow brought into the world despite their lusta nature.

 _Unnatural. Disgusting and unnatural. All because he could not stand that Finwë had been proven right in remarrying with both sons being **proper**_ -

“Congratulations,” Matimo said and Artaresto jerked to attention because he had not noticed him at all, his completely normal and innocuous null scent completely masked by the bitter tones of both his parents, “are you excited?”

“I am,” Artaresto agreed, hollow.

“Bet you wish it was over already though,” Tyelkormo added beside Matimo, both of them taking up the space that usually would have sat three. They were so tall, Tyelkormo only half a thumb shorter than Matimo, and they were both built for strength; an alpha would have been proud to have bodies such as theirs. Tyelkormo’s mouth lolled open in a grin when his gore red eyes met Artaresto’s. His teeth were sharp, and he had the extra set that an omega did, with the incongruous pale pink palate of an infant.

Matimo smiled, following his brother, and his mouth was just as bizarrely out of place with the rest of him.

“I do,” Artaresto couldn’t cry, there were three different heartbeats keeping his steady, and three different cool sets of hands on his emotions, keeping them calm. He could feel their sympathy hanging like ghosts around him. Even though they were the cause. Even though he was sure they could tell how much he disliked them.

“Don’t worry, it will be over soon. You will not believe later how swiftly it all passed.” Tyelkormo shook his head like a beast irritated by flies and angled his head, sweeping hair back from his left ear. He could only hear out of one of them, Artaresto had heard, and not that well either. There had been talk that Oromë had given him a gift that allowed him to understand all speech, Quendi or Beast, Bird or Fish, without having to hear.

Tyelkormo’s angling of his body so his left ear was turned to Artaresto suggested it was not such a complete gift.

“Turko is right, wedding preparations only seem tedious during the actual preparations.” Nerdanel pressed a hand gently against her arm. Her claws were thick and curved, dark at the base and cloudy near the tip.

Artaresto remembered she was a child of Ingwë’s misbegotten. Ingwë’s claws had been the same, a fleeting glance the one time he had been in the presence of the High King.

Queen Olië claws were the same, resting gracefully on Olwë’s arm.

So were Eäwen’s.

He didn’t like it: the reminder that there was more than one thin blood relation between himself and this unnatural family.

“Your sire has commissioned several torques for you to gift Laureaphen personally,” she said, “would you like to see the designs and choose for yourself?”

“Will I really be choosing?” he asked, hearing himself from far away. His eyes flicked to the brown diamond. It was larger than his thumb. It was perfect. It simply needed to be set and he knew the setting would be exquisite.

Telerin of course. His mother’s brothers had a silver workshop. It would be nice if he could have it set there.

“Of course,” she picked up a thick stack of drafting paper. He caught a glimpse of jewel toned watercolours across the paper and the resentment for Fëanáro grew knowing he would adore every single design.

-

For all of Celegorm’s posturing he had to be helped to stand up. Curufin had one arm around his waist and under his arm one second, then Celegorm was pitching to the side and Curufin was backing off, a chunk of flesh ripped out of his forearm and now wetting Finrod’s lips red.

Orodreth was sure his heart stopped. He’d never seen his uncle act out in violence even when news had arrived that Beor had died.

Celegorm forced himself to stand, gripping the bedpost with both hands and hanging there for lack of a better description, legs unsupportive and trembling beneath him. Orodeth had to intervene. Put his shoulder under Celegorm’s armpit and help him straighten. Celegorm’s scent was a mess, sweat and seed which made Orodreth’s stomach want to revolt, and then heat scent which only made him want to run away.

The alphas in the room followed their limping process to the door with their eyes. There were flushes over a fair amount of their cheeks but that could just be their embarrassment. Something about post heat scent was not as alluring and likely to cause rutt to start.

It had been so long though, so wonderfully long, since any of these alphas would have been exposed to heat scent of any kind. Not since Rhosel Saeviel had gotten lost in the caverns during the building of the main fortress and had been without her laurinquë tincture.

There was a rumbling the entire time from the side of the bed. A low vicious snarl that only began to die away when Lord Aewu moved around the bed and Celegorm’s head came up and he looked towards the other null. Feeling what he was doing? Orodreth didn’t shiver but he was uneasy at how Celegorm’s confused and unhappy gaze suddenly brightened with interest. Nulls and their culture were not often spoken about, not often considered; not secretive on purpose but simply never thought of. Each to their own.

Should Celegorm be able to still sense his fellow null’s work? Orodreth didn’t know what to expect. He was barely thinking to be honest. He had a feeling what literature had existed in Aman of Nulls presenting had been scarce, and that the great sundering sea would only have diminished what was known.

It was Celegorm’s night shirt in the brazier behind the lords. It appeared to have been grabbed by the neck and ripped straight down. It was also fairly pungent with sweat and heat musk, enough to make the eye water faintly. Celegorm made a sharp noise, turning the useless garment over in his hands; perhaps laughter. Perhaps a scream. Perhaps the start of tears. Whichever came first and easiest.

Then suddenly he snarled, the noise vibrating strongly through Orodreth. Celegorm threw the nightshirt into the unlit brazier near the bed, but it didn’t fit so he grabbed it again, stumbling on his feet with his weight dragging Orodreth forward, and lobbed it out the window though it barely migrated beyond the trees that grew in the protected inner courtyard.

Finrod moved, stiff sharp movements that did not fit him, and passed Celegorm a bed-robe from the linens chest at the foot of the bed with a great care that their hands did not touch.

It was too short. Celegorm was so much taller than him. When Orodreth glanced down, trying to get a new hold on Celegorm after helping him frumble into the robe and do it up, his eyes averted as much as he could from the bruised, scratched up skin of Celegorm’s chest and belly, Celegorm’s knees were completely bare.

There were patches of dried blood on the insides of them, scrapes across the front, and bruises down his shins.

When Orodreth looked up Finrod was staring at them both. His face was unfamiliar. It’d never been so still before. Orodreth didn’t whimper. Quite. This wasn’t his uncle looking at them. This wasn’t the Finrod he knew and admired. Not the alpha who was the pinnacle and the ideal of what an alpha should be; his rutt having never over taken him, and his behaviour without reproach in all regards.

Risen above the beasts they were descended from, and defying the stereotype that alphas with Vanyar blood were more violent and uncaring.

When Finrod caught him looking, he immediately looked away and stepped back. His face changed again. Back to the Liege Orodreth was familiar with. Back to untouchable and perfect, so long as Orodreth kept his eyes on his face.

“Orodreth,” Finrod said, and his voice broke the illusion that Orodreth was willing to help him maintain. It was rough and snarled, breaking the confinement of controlled, measured syllables, “please take Prince Celegorm back to suitable rooms. Ensure that… Our royal cousin has what he needs. Get the servants to draw baths for both of us. You know what will be needed.”

He said this all at a distance, Lord Aewu between them.

Orodreth nodded. Celegorm muttered something. It sounded apologetic. Orodreth looked up but could no longer see his cousin’s face. It was hidden behind the tangled uneven hair that was not in his barely-clinging-to-existence braid. His shoulders and head were slumped but Orodreth felt him holding his weight up off of Orodreth so he was not taking it completely.

Ah.

 _I am sorry._ He thought.

“I shall do so. Please… take the Lord Aewu and Osborn’s advice my Uncle,” he didn’t bow. That would upset Celegorm’s balance and Orodreth’s own memories of heats long past did not really contain the ability to walk for a day or two afterwards.

They made one step to leave.

And Finrod followed.

Celegorm’s head shot up and he snarled again, lips peeling back from his teeth but his arm began to shake with fatigue immediately, anger draining a finite resource of energy.

Finrod snarled back, escaping hands reaching for him and Orodreth had to bolt, leaving Celegorm to stagger sideways without support though he found it swiftly when Finrod crowded him immediately into the corner where the hinges of the fine oak door set into the rock. Celegorm gripped one great iron hinge, arching away from their chests pressed tight, and pushed his hand up against Finrod’s neck, keeping his mouth away from his neck.

This might have been fine any other time. It should have been something to shrug off, to accept, because it was a perfectly natural thing to herd. Maybe something to laugh about when Celegorm was half a head taller than Finrod was. Was in general considered far more physically imposing than his golden cousin.

Alphas did that, herded people unintentionally.

Children, parents, siblings, cousins.

Sometimes servants. Now that was an amusing memory.

All normal.

Not so normal when Celegorm was in a borrowed bed robe and they both still wretchedly saturated with the scent of heat and rut.

Orodreth tensed. Should he run in and try to tug Celegorm away? He was omega. Finrod would not see him as a threat to his territory. Merely an annoyance. Orodreth smelled too closely of kin.

Could Celegorm gentle Finrod? Was that possible anymore. They were frozen and staring at each other. Celegorm’s tremors were visible now, not merely felt.

Then Finrod breathed out, a shaky sigh and his eyes had the faint off cast that meant he was being gentled and he stepped back for Lord Aewu to once again place himself between them both.

Celegorm pressed his hand to the door and pushed.

“I take my leave,” it was a surprising little moment, the remembered nicety. Finrod, face averted and jaw clenched hard, nodded.

“Go Cousin.”

-

Curufin prowled after them. His arm was still bleeding. It was one more scent and Orodreth’s head was aching. He could have done without the blood. Curufin had an otherwise particularly weak scent for an alpha.

Beside him Celegorm sneezed and shook his head with a groan and then his weight fully fell on Orodreth as his body gave in. Orodreth yelped, careening sideways, but his head was caught by a warm hand before it cracked into stone, and then Curufin took Celegorm’s weight off him.

The Lord’s Quarters were purposefully offset with a long narrow corridor to reach the grandiose apartment. It was a long walk when you were so tired.

Curufin went from propping Celegorm up to carrying him by the end of the first corridor. Celegorm’s face said clearly that his skin was crawling just being touched.  He had to endure it though because there was no other option. The flickering tenseness in his body continued. Orodreth was sure that if a servant tried to help he might react a little too violently. Celegorm’s eyes flicking to the servants keeping well back indicated he might have a ken of this as well.

Orodreth wasn’t certain he could have carried Celegorm’s weight the whole two corridors. He had carried Laureaphen all the way back from Sirion but that had been a desperate situation, one he barely remembered.

There had been a horse some of the way.

Until it had died.

And he had slept for a week once he had been discharged of his duties to his Liege.

His shoulders had never quite felt right since then. Right on cue they twinged, telling him not to take Celegorm back onto them if he wanted to be able to use his arms without pain.

He was surprised actually at how well Curufin was taking Celegorm’s weight. Curufin wasn’t much taller than himself, and wasn’t anymore muscled. He supposed it was the forge work and simple alpha bullheadedness. Even small alphas were stubborn as pigshit.

Though such a description did not really sit well over Curufin. He had the pride infamous for his family but he was not stubborn. He was… flexible. Orodreth had always found him to be manipulative and more fluid than oil, flowing around obstacles rather than trying to charge through them.

He wondered what the barely memorable omega that Curufin had left behind on the other side of the ocean had seen in him. Clearly something special to let him bite her and claim her and then produce a child.

_Even if our first child is lusta-_

Orodreth’s step stumbled and he covered it by gesturing for one of the wary servants to come forward so he could give her the orders for the baths to be run and for the correct scents and oils to strip away their scents and sooth their raw skin be applied to the waters.

“Also a hip bath,” he added, “for Lord Celegorm so he can wash off the excess while my brother uses the bathing chamber.”

“Fucking hate hip baths,” Celegorm said, legs dangling awkwardly over Curufin’s arms and utterly ridiculous looking, “I never fit.”

“The largest hip bath we have.” Orodreth wasn’t sure if hip baths came in sizes. He’d never noticed it.

Curufin did not take Celegorm to his rooms. This made sense. Orodreth had seen what was left of Celegorm’s rooms. They were not suitable for current occupation but no one had dared dismantle the nest Celegorm had made yet.  They walked further down the hallway and the room they entered had to be Celebrimbor’s; the small receiving room they walked into was chaotic but free of any sort of scent except for a faint trace of sweet inoffensive null.

“Tyelpo’s gotten messy,” Celegorm noted, set down on a chair Orodreth grabbed the pile of laundry off after Curufin gestured with his eyebrows at it.

“He dismissed his manservant again,” Curufin did nothing more than shake out his shoulders, apparently in no real discomfort. “He wont mind.”

He likely wouldn’t. He seemed very genial though Orodreth had not spent much time with him; Curufin’s first born. 

Curufin’s null first born.

 _Old-wife’s tale,_ he reminded himself and looked at Celegorm who was rubbing his stomach with a grimace.

There could be a child, the thought rolled through Orodreth and made him cold; made his mind spin right out of his head.

Would that child be a null? Because of its violent conception?

_Old-wife’s tale._

Because of the… difference in its dame?

_I don’t know._

First heats rarely resulted in children, if ever, Orodreth reminded himself. Celegorm was late for a first heat but the same rules would still apply wouldn’t they?

_I don’t know. I just don’t know._

“Why not your rooms?” Celegorm had begun to tremble and shake.

“I would like to not press my luck, my arm is enough of a loss,” Curufin wrapped his still leaking bite wound with a cloth dragged out of Celebrimbor’s clean laundry pile. “If I have to turn around and take you back to our Lord Cousin anytime soon,” Curufin always used that titling with such venom. Orodreth bristled, realised that this was situation where Curufin was entitled to be more than rude,“I do not want you to be carrying too much of my scent around.”

“You carried me and bled on me.”

Good point. Curufin had more than perfumed Celegorm with offending and threatening scent if Finrod was not back under control when he saw him next. Even now he was still touching Celegorm when he should have stayed clear. His hand was on Celegorm’s shoulder, squeezing and kneading the muscle, moving towards the neck before Celegorm’s flinches reminded him of the seeping bite wound that could not be massaged over.

It was not the solicitous attempts to coddle that Orodreth had endured from his sire and grandsire after his heats, it was a more comforting touching.

 “Orodreth,” Curufin looked at him, pinned him to the wall really with his unhealthily blank gaze, “we need to find clothing if at all possible.”

Yes. But it was not as though they had plenty of similarly sized men and women in Nargothrond to borrow clothing from. Celegorm’s wardrobe, the one that Finrod had generously fitted his cousin out with since he’d had only what he had under his armour, was currently inaccessible.

Perhaps he could work something out but the laundries would have to work hard on it and it wouldn’t be readily available… wait perhaps the laundry had some of Celegorm’s clothing that had been sent to them before this had started.

“A healer will need to see you,” he told Celegorm. Celegorm looked utterly revolted by the idea.

Orodreth hadn’t expected to have to take on this role until after Finduilas was married and had gone through her first heat with her spouse.

“I know the last thing you want is to be touched by someone who is not one of yours,” he tried to keep his tone positive, “but if there is significant ripping or tearing-“ his throat tried to close up and his stomach tried to revolt, “it may cause problems.”

Celegorm looked green. Unfortunate sympathy stabbed Orodreth again.

Curufin snarled softly and Celegorm spooked. It took far too much strength to stop a man his size from bolting through the door. Orodreth’s shoulders popped and he felt the sore angry heat build in them that indicated he’d overburdened them. But he did it, he caught Celegorm’s flight, instinctive, away from the alpha in the room who at this moment shouldn’t have been anywhere near him. It occurred to Orodreth how out of order this was and how inappropriate.

Celegorm curled inwards, pushed his face into his shoulder without asking, seeking comfort the way that Finduilas had after her only heat. Or Aegnor had after each miserable false heat for he was intolerant to laurinquë and had to use herbs that only really affected his fertility. 

“Turko,” Curufin sighed, and followed, contrary to what was preferable. He should have backed off and left. Let another omega or a null soothe or gentle Celegorm.

Orodreth let his lips roll back, bared his teeth in warning.

Curufin’s eyes met his but he didn’t stop and that was wrong. He came right up and pressed against Celegorm’s shivering back.

“I am sorry Turko,” Orodreth’s unease spiked, Curufin’s hands against his sides as he wrapped them around Celegorm’s chest, and he could hear his own growl vibrating in his chest “please calm down.”

“Perhaps you should get your son,” Orodreth forced his jaw to relax and his tongue to move, “you are only making this worse.”

Curufin stared into his eyes. No confusion but Orodreth had a sudden profound realisation he did not know what he was talking about? What of his own mate? That little omega he had kept by his side. He would have coddled her after her heats, and watched her seek out other omega to nest against as she recovered.

“Alpha,” his shoulders twanged hot and the pain hit the middle of his shoulder blades and went down his back, “go get your null son. Your brother should have someone to gentle him.”

There was … hurt? No. Just hesitation. Curufin pulled back, stared at them both, and then he strode past without a word, and the door closed. He waited for the lock to turn over but it did not. Curufin assumed they would stay put.

Orodreth breathed out slow, and began a careful shuffle to the settee. Celegorm was easily sat down but Orodreth was not so easily relinquished, finding he was still held by the larger man quite firmly.

“Stay with me.” Celegorm’s voice was rough and hoarse. He turned his head so that the left side of his face was closer to Orodreth than the right.

Orodreth sighed and tugged at his arms till he was able to sit down beside him on the settee. Celegorm’s hand found his forearm, hesitated on it, and Orodreth turned his hand so he could hold it. Celegorm took the contact eagerly.

Then he said: “I don’t remember anything.”

“Inaugural heats sometimes have a little memory loss, but it returns,” Orodreth replayed all the reassurances he had had to give Finduilas and prepared them.

“No,” Celegorm shook his head, “why am I in Nargothrond Orodreth? I don’t remember _anything._ ”


End file.
